


The Testament

by toastyrockets



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, Deadinnit, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29944788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastyrockets/pseuds/toastyrockets
Summary: "Hope is all he knew, only the dead could know for sure what proceeds life. Tomorrow he would plant flowers by his house, beautiful flowers that a living Tommy would like. Tomorrow he would stay next to Tubbo in his grief, he would stay next to him in comfort. Tomorrow was a new day, a day in which Tommyinnit no longer remained."
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Other(s)
Kudos: 16





	The Testament

It seemed the news had fully come around. Tommy’s death was the new talk of the town and despite that, it seemed few genuinely cared but a few. 

Sam, the soft spoken and gentle man had sunken into himself, buried in guilt and sorrow. His voice was hoarse and mournful. He spent his days obsessively patrolling the prison, he would barely let up. The man vowed to kill whoever was responsible for the explosions that led to Tommy’s imprisonment. 

But still, the remorse and unbearable shame Sam felt for keeping Tommy in there, he thinks what he might’ve changed if he’d just let protocol slip a bit. Tommy could still be here, and he’d yell at Sam a bit and then finally mellow down. It felt odd that he’d never get to see the boy’s face again, the animated and lively face that was brash and unapologetic. That face now lies still, completely unmoving and blank. There was no life left in there, only dull grey eyes that used to hold something brighter. 

To open your heart to someone, only to fail them, the only sense of direction Sam could feel was to make the rest of Dream’s eternal sentence a living hell, if he takes Tommy’s he’ll make the prisoner wish it were him. 

He would hunt down anyone remotely responsible, whoever set off that TNT the day Tommy got stuck would soon meet Tommy in hell, he swore by it. 

Never in his life had he been filled with such rage, he felt his body convulsing and throat hissing at any slight agitation. But hunting down the person responsible for Tommy’s death; all he had to do was look in a mirror. The TNT may have gone off, the kill may have been at Dream’s hands, but it was his own prison- his own word that got Tommy killed. “It’ll only be a week, hang tight.” Sam had told him, and there he was a week or so later, his unbreathing body curled up next to the man who’d done it. 

Dream’s laugh still echoed through his mind, the sight of the lava slowly falling to the floor as he laid eyes on the prisoner. Dream stood completely, almost unnaturally still. As the lava fell the more red Sam saw, first splashes on Dream’s mask, trailing down to where both arms were completely covered as if he’d washed his hands in blood. Next to him what looked to be just a pile of limbs and blood on the floor. It was then Sam realized he was too late, Tommy was already dead, his blood covered the dark cell, still fresh and flowing from his body. And Dream just laughed.

As Sam looked at the limp body, he could feel the warmth fading from Tommy’s body from where he stood metres away. His face was barely recognizable, covered in bruises and blood, eyes half open and glazed over. The imprints of Dream’s fingers still wrapped around his neck where the life was strangled out of him. Like a trainwreck, he couldn’t look away from the horror.

As the lava returned, no regret in the prisoner’s aura, no anguish or guilt, he held his head high looking proud. Even with Sam’s furious look upon his person Dream did not waver, he looked back at the warden as if to taunt him. 

_ How selfish I am to leave the boy’s body, but how insulting it would be to retrieve it. Is it honour to stay true to my word and let it rot or honour to give him a proper burial. His body decays in the same walls he died surrounded by, and me, the fool with the protocol. _

There was no proper way for Sam to tell Tubbo Tommy’s fate, he just knew he had to. The warden was able to catch Tubbo and Ranboo by their hotel, the hotel they’d made to rival Tommy’s. He approached apprehensively.

“What’s up, Sa-”

“Tommy’s dead.” His voice was blunt and disturbed, he internally cringed at his harshness. How awful it must be for Tommy’s best friend to hear this news. He prayed Tubbo would never have to see the state Tommy’s body was in, how horrifically he was mauled and beat. But there was no beating around the bush, Tubbo deserved to know very clearly, he was the closest thing Tommy had left to a real family. 

Tubbo and Ranboo stood in shock, unsure if what Sam had said was true, or even real. 

“Wh-what?” Ranboo was the first to speak, his brows furrowing in distress. When his eyes met Sam’s he knew he wasn’t lying, it felt like he had just become winded by Sam’s two words.

“No.” Tubbo said, more as a statement then in any disbelief. 

“No?” 

“Tommy isn’t dead, he’s in prison with Dream, he couldn’t have died.”

Sam looked to him sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry… Dream killed him, Tubbo. I don’t- I don’t know what else to say.” He looked down in shame.

“No, Tommy’s alive. I know it, he couldn’t have died. I don’t believe you.”

Ranboo grimaced, going to pet Tubbo’s head. “C’mon, um, let’s get out of here.” He turned to Sam, the terror in his eyes. He bowed his head apologetically before leading Tubbo off, holding his friend close as they walked back to Snowchester.

Tubbo seemed to be unaffected, truly believing what he said. It made Ranboo uneasy, seeing his friend so far in denial he did not even stop a moment to consider his reality. Though, Ranboo knew the feeling, so appalled and shaken that your body gives you no other choice than to completely deny acknowledging any fact or rationale. At some point the dam would break and Ranboo would have to be there for him. 

It seemed Tubbo wanted to continue his day as any other, completely moving on from the terrible news, he’d never really heard it. Ranboo didn’t know how to cope, he felt dizzy and sick, he barely even knew how Tommy died, only knowing it was at the hands of Dream. How? Why? He felt like crying there on the spot, he didn’t know how to talk about it with Tubbo. How long could Tubbo convince himself it wasn’t true?

Even Jack Manifold was put off by Tubbo’s lack of reaction, the absolute unacceptance of his best friend’s death. Jack looked to Ranboo jarringly when Tubbo remained his blissful and cheery self, “Tommy isn’t dead, Jack.” Tubbo had said and Jack only gave an uncomfortable laugh, like Tubbo was making an inappropriate joke. 

But still the day, at least to Tubbo, remained the same. Working on a few projects, business as usual. Ranboo barely felt conscious throughout all of it, he felt Tommy weighing too heavily on his soul. 

“Tubbo?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you wanna… talk about it?”

Tubbo tilted his head curiously. “Talk about what?”

“... Tommy.”

“He’s fine.”

“Tubbo-”

“He’s fine, alright!? He’s just stuck in prison with Dream, he’s gonna get out soon!” It was rare that Tubbo raised his voice so harshly at anyone, let alone his beloved platonic husband Ranboo. 

Ranboo’s face melted into a sympathetic, hurt smile. He decided it wasn’t worth fighting, he wasn’t going to try and hurt his friend. “Alright, Tubbo…” He brought the smaller into a hug, bringing his head down to rest upon Tubbo’s shoulder. “Can I stay in Snowchester tonight?’

“Of course! We can have a sleepover!” There it was again, Tubbo’s hauntingly cheerful tone, the complete disregardment for anything either of them had said prior. Part of Ranboo wished when he woke up tomorrow he would forget that anything had happened and be as blissfully unaware as Tubbo, but surely he would wake up feeling heavier than before. He always forgot the little unimportant things and people he wished to remember, the kind that made life worth living, and always remembered the bad, if not in memory then in feeling.

That night he wondered how others would react, what others would think. Tommy was somehow simultaneously the least and most popular person around, the loud and easily outraged boy who nobody could seem to keep away for too long. Always getting into trouble and causing problems, it seemed after all the failed assassination attempts the boy seemed to go through it was difficult to imagine a world in which he no longer existed in. No matter how many times Tommy was knocked down he came back up swinging. It was admirable in how obnoxious and unabashed he was despite how many toes he stepped on along the way. Would others weep or mourn for the death of a child, no matter how crude and annoying, or would they cheer and celebrate, the earth has been cleaned of its plague, Tommy was gone for good. 

Ranboo, wide awake on a spare mattress in Tubbo’s Snowchester house, looked up at the ceiling and wondered if Tommy was there, and how Tommy felt. Could the dead still feel? Could he still see the living? Ranboo hoped Tommy could know just how sorry he was. Wherever Tommy was or if he felt anymore, Ranboo hoped it was nice. No more worry, no more hurt, with all his heart he hoped it was oh so very nice. Hope is all he knew, only the dead could know for sure what proceeds life. Tomorrow he would plant flowers by his house, beautiful flowers that a living Tommy would like. Tomorrow he would stay next to Tubbo in his grief, he would stay next to him in comfort. Tomorrow was a new day, a day in which Tommyinnit no longer remained. 

The flower that Ranboo had gave Tommy his first day, a wonderful blooming allium. Tommy had partially mocked Ranboo’s gift, but there it sat in the chest full of George’s items they’d stolen together that day, fully intact.

Burning tears streaked down Ranboo’s face. He hated crying, the wet tears were like small razors down his cheeks, they stung his eyes and only made him want to cry more. When was the last time he cried? He couldn’t know for sure, the scars they left on his face had long since healed. 

And so flowers were planted by Tommy’s house. Ranboo always found the dirt mound of a home quite funny, Tommy was always so flamboyant, his house was a far cry from who he was, just a small modest mound like some sort of hobbit hole. The red and white flowers made it look so calm and clean, remnants of destruction to Tommy’s home were nearly entirely ridden of and all that was left was an empty house.

Crouching to the path, Ranboo gently left the Allium down in front of the doorway. 

“Ranboo?” For a moment Ranboo thought it was the sound of Tommy. For a moment he thought this all might’ve been one big misunderstanding. Instead, Tubbo stood there on the wooden path to Tommy’s house, his limbs hanging listlessly at his sides.

Ranboo had no reply. He only looked into Tubbo’s eyes and saw that he knew. His eyes told that he’d known all along. He caught Tubbo as the boy ran into his arms, locking himself around Ranboo, burying himself into his chest and beginning to sob. Ranboo could only hug him back, letting himself sink into the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo.” Ranboo whispered, it was all he could even think to say. 

Tubbo could only wail and shiver where he was held. The warm sun felt so much colder than it had before, the air felt so much quieter. Days like this were usually so busy and yet there seemed to be nothing, no people or animals or machines. Everything felt so much more real and terrifying, every splinter on the wooden path, every blade of grass that pet Ranboo’s palm, every petal on the flowers that softly swirled with the breeze, every particle of mist that sat inside a cloud, every morsel of dirt that make up the small house in the hill, Ranboo was suddenly aware of everything that moved around him. How insignificant each one of them are. The world kept turning even after Tommy died. He wondered if it would keep turning after him as well, all signs pointed to ‘yes’. Tommy, just as small as any particle of water and as big as any storm, the world felt emptier now that he was gone. Did the world feel any emptier when a flower wilted or a piece of wood burnt? It wasn’t a matter of matter but a matter of Tommy, the soul that was once Tommy. His body still rots in prison next to Dream yet something was still missing. However beaten his corpse, the body would never truly be gone from this earth. No matter the matter, matter cannot be created or destroyed, but somehow he still felt so completely gone, and yet the allium stayed forever the same.

The two spent the rest of the day alone in Snowchester, a silent border between the two. Ranboo was always amazed at the bond Tommy and Tubbo held, two life-long best friends, no matter how tough the challenge they always made it out on the other side together. All the apparent jealousy Tommy held towards Ranboo he knew was mostly just a show, but Ranboo still wondered if he died thinking Tubbo no longer thought of him as his best friend. He didn’t want Tommy to think he was competing for Tubbo’s friendship, to think he was trying to replace him in his best friend’s life. No matter how close Ranboo and Tubbo got he hoped Tommy knew just how much he meant to Tubbo. Now, in the day filled with silence, Tubbo barely moved. The two had always done everything together, perhaps it was only fitting that Tubbo died alongside Tommy. His body remained, his body still breathed, yet his soul was with Tommy’s wherever that may be.

Oh Tommy, poor unfortunate Tommy. Was it misfortune that he got stuck in there at all? Didn’t everyone at least vaguely know of Tommy’s relation to Dream? Ranboo was unsure anyone but Tommy and Dream really knew what had happened during Tommy’s exile. Ranboo only had a distant view through his secret messages with Tommy at the time, but even then he still knew how anxious and defensive Tommy got when his exile was brought up. His unwillingness to share his experiences may be just the answer, too traumatized and terrified to open up after what Dream had done. Why didn’t anyone do anything? Didn’t Sam know how dangerous Dream was? The warden kept Tommy in prison days overdue, his blood was on his hands as well. But how did Tommy get trapped in the first place? The security breach. Sam had said explosions went off around the prison, so secure that there was not even a remnant of where the TNT had gone off, in which the security of the prison was so succure it’d failed to protect at all. A prison so secure Tommy’s murdered corpse still dead in the cell he was killed, Sam couldn’t even have the honour to retrieve it. He couldn’t be mad at that though, Ranboo wondered if it would be more insulting to remove the body from the prison after he already died instead of when he had the chance while Tommy was still alive.  _ Why did no one do anything, why didn’t I do anything? _ Ranboo thought. As Tommy suffered, everyone else watched: through exile, the war, history seemed adamant on sitting by and watching Tommy be crushed under Dream’s boot. 

The emotions felt confusing. As much as he wanted to blame it all on Sam, on the mysterious person who must’ve set off the TNT, himself, the only one to blame was Dream. Sam drowned himself in grief over the boy he failed to save, the detonator was still an enigma, and yet the person with the literal blood on their hands was Dream, knuckles bruised where fist met flesh, blood that wasn’t his clung to the fabric of his clothing. 

Tears left scars on Ranboo’s cheeks, perhaps a part of Tommy that would always stay with him. Tommy’s soul may be gone, his body may one day decay, and yet streaks of red stayed on his face. Every time he looked in the mirror he could remember Tommy. He promised not to forget Tommy, to Tommy being forgotten or left behind was a fate worse than dying. 

But how a soul so meaningful has it’s impact on this earth, no matter what Tommy could never truly be forgotten. His name hangs in the L’Manberg museum, the bench by his house has his and Tubbo’s names carved into it, surely everyone has spoken to him at least once, and he sure does make an impression. 

The things here, do they far outlive him or will they one day meet the same fate? Ranboo’s memory was inconsistent, he feared he may forget Tommy tomorrow. But how could he forget him when every indent of Tommy’s path had been ingrained into the server? 

Loved, hated, now gone and only a thought once had. A will, a testament to not be forgotten. He’d been left behind by those he called family, beaten into dirt before ever reaching adulthood, his memories lie with his body, the body that could never decay. Though his body may rise, the part of his soul remains lost.

The body wakes up, the spirit is forgotten.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this is a minecraft roleplay fanfiction :/ 
> 
> https://twitter.com/cozyspacecraft


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